Lucky Number Twenty
by Cella N
Summary: And now, Sakura is confronted with another dilemma: cooking. Lucky for her, someone is willing to help. SAKURA. CHOUJI. On waiting, numbers, failed hobbies, and cake. Lots of cake.


**Diclaimer: **Naruto isn't mine. Thank god. Elsewise Sakura'd be fandom-bycycled in canon, too.  
**Spoilers: **None.**  
A/N:** HAH! Bet you never expected THIS pairing, either, did you? Well, I should open a club for crack-ships, I think. Anyway, as usual, not meant to be taken so seriously. But I think it's nice, in a weird way. Right? Right. 

**Lucky Number Twenty**

During the past week, Haruno Sakura had been in a dilemma. A serious, terrible notion settled in her mind: she was unbearably single. As soon as Ino heard of this fact, she'd went:

"Well, duh, forehead-girl. It took you long enough to realise, stupid."

And after that particular dinner near Ichiraku, Ino had set her mind to play matchmaker on Sakura. Sometimes, Sakura wondered if the guys Ino picked for her were some sort of revenge—but why would they be, since both girls had made peaces, especially since Sasuke had left. As a matter of fact, Sasuke was the reason Sakura had been single for so long. Of course she'd taken her damn time in getting over that hole in her heart—especially with the rest of the village looking at her pityingly. In their eyes, if she'd gotten over him quickly, they'd discard her as easy, stamp her words of love as false, and that would be that. To them, Sakura had to be always waiting for the Uchiha. Even if most of them wanted Sakura to get over it, once she actually decided to get over it, they'd frown upon it.

Hence why all her dates sucked.

Only the bastards of Konoha volunteered, probably looking for a bit of easy flesh—which Sakura offered, though it was the skin of her fist they tasted—, which led Sakura to lose faith in men, and decide that she was in another dilemma. She needed a better hobby.

Sure, she was used to opening people up, fixing their insides, seeing more blood per day that a haemophiliac in their whole lifetime, but that wasn't enough. That would only ensure her a place in the mental ward by the time she was eighteen. After all, all it took was one look at her sensei, who spent half the day drunk to forget the stink of blood and life (her words).

So she tried some hobbies, like ikebana—Ino kicked her out of the shop after the third session—or shougi—but Shikamaru glared at her when she called him a sour loser—, quickly discarding them as boring. Then she asked her mother what she liked to do for fun. Her mother said she liked to cook. Sakura wanted to give that a try.

Only problem: she didn't know how to cook.

And the second problem was that her mother kicked her out of the kitchen after the third burned pot, deciding that Sakura was useless, and frustrating in the kitchen. So Sakura went to Ino, since Ino knew a lot of people, and asked for help.

Thus, therefore and hence, why she was standing in the Akimichi household this very evening, a apron around her waist, her hair pulled in a tight knot, and her sleeves pulled up.

"So," she said to her teacher, "Ino has told you I'm a terrible student for these things?" she asked, watching his back as he pulled out pots and pans.

"Mm, she's let me know," he said, a smile to his voice. "Don't worry, I'm patient."

"So was my mom. And Ino. And Shikamaru—you cannot find a more patient person than that lazy-ass. But I tell you, if it's not a life on the line, or some bowels to fix up, or mess up, I suck."

"Well, you let me worry about that."

"And I have the tendency to burn things in the kitchen."

"Things like what?"

"Water?" she said, sheepishly smiling as she leaned against the counter. "Yeah, that's the same look my mother had when she found out."

Chouji gave a slight chuckle, and turned to the table. "I said I'll teach you how to cook, and I will. Think of it as a life or death situation."

"How?"

"Well…you're going to cook the family dinner. And my family, without dinner?" He gave a small shudder, "Deadly missions don't compare."

Sakura paled. "You're pulling my hair, right?"

Chouji smiled. "Only a bit. Now come on, let's start."

-------

"Okay, so the eggs go inside and—"

"Did you put in the whole egg?"

"I broke it first, teacher."

"But did you separate the egg-white?"

"The what—oh, I hate this."

"Don't give up! Start all over. Here, new bowl."

"…that's the third attempt."

"….lucky number four?"

-------

"—Lucky number eleven?"

"_Chouji_."

He laughs. "You should see yourself, all covered up in flour."

"Like a pink ghost?"

"Hmm, more like a lollipop," he says, his voice strangely hoarse as he turns away for a new bowl.

-------

"So, Ino told me you started dating."

"Mm, some time ago, but all candidates were bastards with more brawn than brain."

"The good ones probably thought it was a joke."

"Nah, the good ones think I'm one of those tramps for getting over Sasuke. Even though, you know…it took about four years and all."

"Their loss."

"Somehow I don't seem to agree."

"You will, some day." He pushed a clean bowl under her arms. "Can I give you some advice?"

"Sure. Shoot, teach'."

He grinned slightly, "Next time, don't let Ino set you up. You can find guys on your own, just fine."

"Yeah, sure…in the hospital, we get loads of them, only, you know. They're sorta dead."

A small chuckle and a pat on the shoulder: "Patience, grasshopper. That's how you do it. Like cooking."

"Hm. So…lucky number twenty?"

-------

"I…can't believe it."

"Mmmhmm. Look at that. See it grow?"

"That's my baby, grow brown and nice. Mmm, smells good, too."

His shoulder bumping hers as they stared at the successful cake take a brownish colour in the oven, he inhaled slightly, his senses flooded with a smell of spring and flowers and a bit of flour. "Yeah, smells very good."

"Chouji!" Sakura exclaimed, tackling him into a hug. "I cooked! I cooked, you taught me how to cook!"

"I taught you how to bake one cake. That's hardly cooking."

"But you were right, lucky number twenty worked! And—oh, thank you!" she hugged him tighter. He didn't complain. "I feel less like a useless thing now."

"Heh. Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Yes." She pulled away, suddenly, blushing slightly. "Yes, it does. Thanks, for teaching me."

"No problem."

"Oh my gods, but…ah, we got so caught up in baking the cake that we forgot about dinner! And your family will kill me!"

"And eat you, too," he carried on with a smirk.

"Wha—Chouji!"

He chuckled, amused at her antics. "Don't worry, I managed to prepare something while you were separating the eggs."

"Wow. Really? Do you always cook in here?"

"Sometimes. My mum's the better cook, though."

"Hm, got it from her, then?"

"Perhaps. So, you are of course staying for dinner." He gave her a startlingly bright smile, "After all, if your cake is poisonous, you're going down with us."

She laughed. "Sure, I'll stay."

-------

"You know," she said, much later, as they were lingering on the porch. "I'm really glad your family didn't have to eat me."

"So am I," he told her, smiling slightly. The moonlight made his adolescent face look attractive. For a moment, Sakura wandered why they called him fat and ugly—she'd seen him skinny after that battle, and knew that this look complimented him. Made him actually attractive, in a boy-next-door way. He had a nice laugh.

"I bet I don't taste well, anyway."

"I have a feeling you would," he murmured, the tone not passing unnoticed to her, though his boyish smile disconcerted the whole phrase.

"Thanks for teaching me how to cook, Chouji," she said, trembling slightly with the breeze.

"I taught you how to bake," he corrected again. "And once doesn't make you an expert."

"Well," she started, looking at her feet. "Maybe…you should teach me again?"

"Maybe I will."

She looked up at the sound of his voice way too close to her. Just in time to see him bend down and lick her cheek. "Wh—"

"Mm, had some icing left there," he explained, a twinkle in his eyes. "I was right, you don't taste bad at all."

Blushing. There was much blushing, and it was so red that it illuminated the street. Chouji laughed, low in his throat.

"How many boyfriends did Ino try to put on you?"

"Uhm…nineteen…?"

He nodded slowly, then caught her chin in his hand, and leaned close, tempting and vulnerable at the same time. "Lucky number twenty?" he murmured, practically against her lips.

Sakura grinned, "That only works in the kitchen."

He grinned, darkly. "Then we'll keep it in the kitchen."

A small giggle escaped her throat, and she lowered her eyes. "Alright. I'd like to try…"

"That makes two of us."

And he sealed it with a kiss. 


End file.
